​For five winters (2009-14), beginning about this time in November, I would pack up my few necessities and drive an hour and a half north to the cottage by sea on the Maine coast that I rented for five months. I loved those years, and although they no longer fit into my current life, I do miss them.
      As the fall cold and barrenness sets in, I notice that I am carving out moments of cottage days here in my Massachusetts home. I don’t have the view of the ocean, nor the days of complete silence, solitude, and simplicity, but I have that atmosphere much of the time. How grateful I am that the conversation, community, and complexities, rarely stressful. That may sound impossible or even naive, but I am certain it is a goal I should strive for at this time in my life.  
    Silence, solitude, and simplicity is what you make it; you’ll know it when you’re living it. 

​Yesterday the dumpster was hauled away. Filled to the top but not overflowing. Good thing, for if stuff flies out on its way to some dump, the company gets fined, and for all I know, we could end up paying it? But that’s not what’s going to happen, nor is it something I’m concerned about.
     My concern is that all the stuff/junk/trash—call it what you want, is going to some landfill and will sit there until eternity. What is eternity? That’s a theological question usually discussed in books, theological school and from the pulpit. I like to consider myself a low level consumer, but that dumpster tells me I am fooling myself. The joy of getting rid of stuff has been tempered by the truth that we just moved it out of sight. We paid someone to pass the buck.
     How can I cut down on plastic? I wonder if my supermarket will refill the chicken salad container I bring in? 

​In some respects our life has not been filled with silence, solitude or simplicity this fall. For the past two weeks, the dumpster we rented to get rid of stuff in our attic, garage, and barn, has been sitting in our driveway receiving junk, trash, and past treasures. Thanks to our kids and grandsons the dumpster is full and the lawn raked.
    And yet, interspersed with all the activity, there have been intervals of literal silence, solitude, and simplicity. Just knowing that on Thursday all will be hauled away brings a figurative silence, solitude, and simplicity that is profound and lasting. 

     ​Today I feel deeply comfortable and at peace in my silence, solitude, and simplicity. But why? I am saddened by the death of Elijah Cummings, and that a dear friend of fifty years in spending his last days at the hospice residence where I used to be the spiritual care counselor. Certainly not a time of joy, but definitely a time of gratitude for friendships and lives well lived.
    Maybe, just maybe, we feel deeply comforted and peaceful when we unite with individuals who, having made a positive difference during their earthly years, are now putting an Amen to their lives. At times like this I am reminded that before death there was birth. Maybe, just maybe, my comfort also comes from the news of the joyful birth of a friend’s granddaughter. Birth and death are givens in the human journey; embracing and celebrating both, not as separate events, but as parts of something much bigger than we can explain, is what seems to brings profound comfort and peace. 

​This poem was sent to me by a friend. She wrote:
     “We went to a concert at the Boston Wagner Society. One of the pieces was a Lieder by Franz Liszt based on a Poem by Goethe.  When I read it I thought of you:
 
 Joyful and sorrowful

                      Joyful and sorrowful,
                      full of gratitude.
                      Longing and anxious
                      In constant anguish;
                      Sky-high rejoicing
                      despairing to death.
                      Happy alone is the soul
                      that loves.

     OMG, is this my first post in October? Yes! Well, my jetlag is over and I’m back on the seesaw that goes up and down between silence, solitude, and simplicity, and activity out in the world. Actually the ride is steady and well-balanced for the most part. That’s the way my life is these days; that’s’ the way I want it to be.
    The social seat of the seesaw finds me volunteering at Open Table, where I help seniors select their weekly food, which includes fresh produce from local farms. Then there are church activities, folks to visit, as well as keeping up with friends and family. The solitude seat finds me walking, reading, knitting, and puttering around the house. Currently this puttering is picking up velocity as we get ready rent another dumpster (our fourth?) and let go of more stuff. The plan is to have our house more or less ready to put on the market should the desire or need arise. BTW, we have no immediate plans for that.
    So there it is, my latest status report. Oh, one more thing. I had slacked off on my reading, especially when in Italy, but I’m back now. My 2019 Goodreads  Reading Challenge is 80 (the birthday I will celebrate in December). To date I’ve read 48; I’m on schedule. 

​I’m almost finished with jet lag. My strategy is to stay in bed for eight hours, even when I wake up earlier and really want to get going with the day. Last night I went to bed at 9 and got up at 5 t, so I’m just about spot on with my usual routine. 
      In Florence, walking was an essential part of my daily schedule; I averaged between six and eight miles a day. Now that I’m home, I’m lucky if I log in half of that.  A daily walk is still on my daily agenda, although the number of miles get in is cut in half.
     Getting our EVERY day for a walk, even if it’s a short one, will keep it a part of the rhythm of my life. Habit is essential. To put it simply and clearly, if I don’t walk, I don’t walk! –even if it is just up the street or around the block. The bigger challenge is to step out every day when weather stops being as appealing as it is now in New England.

• This morning I climbed Duomo. It was at least my 25th climb. I wasn’t the fastest, but I could keep up.
• Half the tourists here are Asian. Good thing, because they SHOP.
• Cyclists are the number one hazard in Il Centro.
• Women are still writing in journals. The woman next to me at the cafe has been writing in small notebook for at least thirty minutes. She has 12 Rules for Life, by Jordan B. Peterson on the table next to her coffee. Maybe she writing her rules. I wanted to strike up a conversation with her, but one of my rules is to honor people’s privacy, and that what I sense she wants. Thus, also no photograph.
• The Ponte Vecchio is less crowded with tourists in the fall than in the spring.
• Locks of Love are still being attached to the fence around the statue of Cellini on the Ponte Vecchio. 

​Yesterday the rain came and went, as it does in Florence. I was able to plan around it and NOT buy an umbrella.  I spent about two hours in the Museo del Duomo, which was  completely refurbished a few years ago. On the first floor is an amazing display of sculpture laid out as it might have been during the 14th and 15th century before Archduke Francis I demolished the facade for a high Renaissance one. Appropriate music throughout encouraged visitors to be calm and subdued as they might be in a church. The second floor is dedicated to the building of the dome, as well as displaying the original sculpture from the bell tower.

(Having trouble again posting pictures. Will try later._

​My plan this week is to write in some of the cafes that I’ve discovered over the years. This isn’t some farewell tour but part of my plan to stay in the moment.
     Today I’m at the Fellrinelli bookstore’s RED café, looking at the surroundings with ‘new’ eyes. Hmm, to begin with, everything seems bright, which may have to do with my recent cataract surgery. But more than physically new, new means really looking and observing and taking what I see into my mind and then into my heart.
    For example, two couples are enjoying coffee and conversation together. One man is looking intently at the woman talking; the other is looking around the café but then returns to the conversation.
     This is NOT a music story; it is a book store; Reading is visual. So much for my new eyes to take in--attractive displays of books for young children, more cookbooks than you need, but we all know the joy of a new one. And then there is the ceiling, purposely unfinished, a contrast to the lively, colorful, dynamic café.
    Why do I even consider posting this little personal experience of trying out my ‘new’ eyes? Granted, it’s not particularly interesting or memorable. I do so with the hope that it will open up some new way of seeing for you while also helping me remember to keep my eyes open. The good news is that blogs are freely offered, freely received. A captive audience is not part of blog language. 
     The good news: the problem posting photos resolved itself.